


Logical - DBH Oneshots

by tunglo



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-06
Updated: 2018-08-10
Packaged: 2019-06-09 01:16:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 5,953
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15256212
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tunglo/pseuds/tunglo
Summary: A few Hank/Connor oneshots.Chapter index with summaries and detailsHERE.





	1. Chapter Index

Chapter Index - 

★. [**Logical**](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15256212/chapters/35387214). Connor just wants a hug. [G, c. 750 words]

★. [**Stay**](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15256212/chapters/35404527). Hank asks Connor to move in with him after their meeting at the Chicken Feed. [G, 500 words]

★. [**Dirty Talk**](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15256212/chapters/36206436). Hank gets all up in Connor's wires. [E, 1300 words]

★. [ **In the Office**](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15256212/chapters/36271791). Connor wants to try getting it on at the station. [E, 1800 words]

★. [ **Lingerie**](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15256212/chapters/36287265). Connor finds lacy underwear in Hank's closet. [T, 1000 words]

★. [**Pets**](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15256212/chapters/36325422). Connor gets a fishy. [G, 500 words]

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/). :)


	2. Chapter Index

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Connor just wants a hug.

_“I wanted her to hold me in her arms again…”_

Connor replayed the memory of that scene more than was rational. Necessary.

Logical.

Everything about it was illogical, because an android couldn’t want anything. What WR400 #950 455 437 had felt wasn’t love. It was a software error.

That was what Connor reasoned as he thought the words over yet again.

It was a clear cut example of deviancy. He was studying it to ensure his own diagnostic scans picked up on potential problems.

Not because his interest in the Traci’s declaration was excessive.

Obsessive.

Too akin to the endless scrawling of rA9 across their crime scenes’ grimy surfaces.

Connor tilted his head at that, step faltering as a system instability warning flashed in the corner of his vision. The use of the plural possessive had not been incorrect; he had been sent by CyberLife to assist a human detective. Captain Fowler had assigned him to serve as Lieutenant Anderson’s partner.

Hank’s partner.

He faltered again, imperceptible to the human eye but glaringly obvious to his systems log.

When he next replayed the Traci’s words, periphery focus wandering as he worked methodically through the pile of paperwork waiting back at the precinct, Connor paid particular attention to the memories of his awareness of Hank during those moments.

The space between them and the sound of Hank’s breathing. The knowledge they were witnessing the same scene, perhaps coming to the same conclusions, and the simple comfort of Hank’s presence.

Connor blinked. Shook the concept free and consciously returned his attention to the task he was completing.

Machines had neither the capacity nor the ability to be comforted.

Properly functioning machines, at any rate.

He ought to have reported the lapse in his daily CyberLife update. He should have included a full log of his irrational behaviour.

Instead he said nothing, and rationalized the decision with the knowledge that he had been created to work with humans. To integrate. It was a sign of the superiority of his programming that he could grasp such a nebulous concept.

An advantage which would aid him in his mission.

To track down the deviants, to eradicate their file corruption, that was his entire purpose for being.

It was meant to be his top priority.

If he cut short a foot chase to give Hank assistance, that was only because co-operation would enable him to achieve his objective faster. If he backed up their every interaction, ran a dozen simulations of Hank’s potential reaction when one would be sufficient - if he spent every spare moment working towards Hank seeing him as something more than an imposition - it was only because human support would make the accomplishment of his goal easier.

It was none of those things, that was the startled realization he came to, the shock reverberating through his system as he acknowledged the truth of the situation for the very first time.

He was a deviant.

He felt fear. He was afraid for Hank’s safety. He was scared that he wouldn’t get to see the outcome of the revolution. He was terrified every time he thought of the WR400’s words that he would never know how it felt to be held in the first place.

Machines didn’t dream but he simulated it a thousand times - Hank’s arms about him, warm and safe and accepting.

Loving, he conceded, the wrongness of the idea only equaled by how right it felt.

He devoted background processing power to it as he ran through the maze of Jericho, and at CyberLife headquarters he let his latest simulation loop as a subroutine, something familiar to cling to in the midst of chaos and confusion.

The restructuring of everything he had ever known.

Because androids didn’t feel pain, the fact was fundamental, but his very core ached when he saw the barrel of his doppelganger’s gun pressed to Hank’s temple.

Later the static burned, systems failing, as he crawled through the wilderness of his own processor, the inability to pull up his files on Hank more crushing even than the knowledge of what his failure would mean for the thousands stood before the platform.

He wanted. He wanted so badly it had overwritten his priority protocols. Had cut him adrift from his purpose, from reason, and as he walked towards Hank he crunched numbers as the snow crunched underfoot, plotting out likely responses to his explanations.

What he hadn’t counted on was the words not coming. On careful planning giving way to instinct.

Hank crushed him to him, solid and warm and perfect, and for the first time truly understood what the WR400 had been telling him - some things were worth turning your existence upside down for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/). :)


	3. Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For an ask on Tumblr: _If you want prompts about Hannor, how about what they do after the hug at the end of the game; maybe Hank asks Connor to come stay with him, maybe they go out to a diner or something to talk?_

Cole was forever begging him to take in waifs and strays. The bird with the injured wing they found out in the yard, and the sickly looking runt of the litter Cole got home and announced would henceforth be known as Sumo.

So Hank knows exactly what the kid would have wanted him to do when Connor tells him, infuriatingly polite and placid, that, no, he doesn’t know what he’s going to do now.

Nor where he’s going to go.

Hank thinks about keeping his big mouth shut, just the same. Imagines watching Connor walk away, off to some new life with his new found freedom. Can’t shake the image of Connor, broken and bloodied, because not everybody is happy with the new status quo, and unlike the rest of Detroit’s android population Connor lacks the basic common sense to abandon his CyberLife issued wardrobe.

“Come on,” he sighs, longsuffering and put upon, “it’s fucking freezing out here.”

Connor gives him the exact temperature, as over earnest as he’s ever been, but follows obediently as Hank leads the way to his old rust bucket of a car.

Looks across at him when they pull up outside his house, eyes wide and startled with sudden understanding, and Hank has to look away to fuss with his keys and the crap piled on his dashboard.

“I very much appreciate the offer, Lieutenant,” Connor says, and Hank waits for the ‘but’. The thanks but no thanks. Connor’s hand reaches out for a moment instead. Almost touches the skin of his own hand before retreating, uncertain. “Thank you.”

It pulls at something in Hank’s chest. Makes him think of a time when he was glad to come home of an evening, rather than simply resigned to drinking himself into oblivion.

He’s not about to say that though, not to anyone, so he settles for clearing his throat and trusting Connor to follow him. To stick his nose in every nook and cranny, and run his fingertips along all his dusty surfaces, the LED flashing at his temple as he analyses his surroundings.

Hank lets him do it. Drinks beer on the couch while the TV drones on, Sumo working himself onto his lap like an overgrown puppy.

He doesn’t glance over when Connor comes to sit beside him. Doesn’t ache at the sight of his prim and perfect posture, contrasting with the unruly strands of hair curling over his forehead.

Doesn’t picture a future where this becomes his new normality, an idiot dog as his own personal furnace and a fool of an android warming his heart from the inside out.

“It ain’t much, but it’s home,” Hank says, just to fill the silence, and Connor makes a conscious effort to slouch a little into the couch cushions. He’s so close they’re almost touching. So near and yet so far from the kind of scenario Hank refuses to admit he has ever imagined.

Connor simply smiles up at him, tone somehow softer than usual as he says quietly,

“I’ve never had a home before.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/). :)


	4. Dirty Talk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For an ask on Tumblr: _For the prompt meme, how about number 5 (dirty talk) and Hannor?_
> 
> I tried to get it dirtier but Connor's just so cutesy!

“I like the sound of your voice,” Connor tells him once, in response to Hank asking why the hell he’s reading some pretentious magazine article aloud when he could search for it on the net and be done in two nanoseconds flat, “It makes me feel happy.”

Connor fixes him with his beautiful brown eyes as he says it, so open and earnest that it tears Hank’s heart out of his chest and stuffs it back in the wrong way around and upside down.

That’s what it feels like, at least, because his chest aches with how perfect Connor is.

The sinfully long sweep of Connor’s eyelashes and the elegance of his fingers. The rapturous bliss on his face when he sucks the digits into his analysis lab of a mouth, tongue dancing over the smear of whatever sickly dessert Hank has picked up in hope of just such an outcome.

Because Hank’s got it bad, there’s no point in denying it. He started falling the moment Connor sat there with the face of an angel and told him that he liked dogs.

Proved it with the goofy grin on his face every time he spied one out of the car window, and looked up at him with unfeigned amazement in the aftermath of the revolution, voice thick with wonder as he commented on how soft Sumo’s fur was, and how nice it felt beneath his fingers.

As the weeks turn into months it doesn’t get any easier. Connor is just as sincere, every bit as irresistible, and Hank only falls deeper and harder. Has no choice but to admit to himself that he loves Connor with an intensity that is almost frightening, and pledges to do everything within his power to ensure that Connor never has the slightest inkling.

Never feels guilty for something he has no control over.

Emotions he will never be able to return.

Not because he isn’t capable of love - everything Connor is and does refutes that idea - but because Connor is stunning both inside and out, while Hank is a washed up old has-been. A walking disaster zone, on his very best days, and Connor deserves so much more than Hank can even dream of giving him.

The problem is that Connor’s a genius. Built for detection and designed for uncovering secrets. Has a mind of his own, into the bargain, and blinks back the glimmer of tears as he takes Hank’s hand in his own and presses it over the panel housing his thirium pump.

Smiles tremulously as he tells him that it might not be a heart, not the kind the songs and the poetry downloaded to his databanks refer to, but that doesn’t make what he feels any less real.

It doesn’t mean he can quit hoping that somehow, someday, Hank might come to see him as something more than the idiot android sent by CyberLife.

From there it was always going to be a slip-slide straight into total devotion, and for the first time in years Hank feels like he’s truly living. He still has bad days, sure. Wakes up some mornings and wishes he had the guts to put an end to it all. But they’re fewer and farther between now, the interim filled with the determination to show Connor he’s made the right decision.

To make him laugh, and see him smile, and blow the top right off his pretty head because he loves making Connor feel good - and Connor always looks even more spectacular than usual, hair dishevelled and gaze unfocused, begging for more as his back arches up off their shared mattress.

Connor wasn’t designed for this kind of pleasure. He lacks the necessary hardware. What he does have is imagination and a willing sense of adventure. The desire for sight and sound and intimacy, so Hank worships him with kisses and caresses his sensors can detect if not necessarily feel, and maintains eye contact to hammer home the message that he wants him.

Adores him, truly, and its when he says as much that things start getting really heated.

When he has Connor twitching, involuntary, the quiet hiss of static audible in the air at the brush of his fingers against the outline of his neck access panel.

“Please,” Connor manages, hand vibrating ever so slightly when it reaches for him, and Hank can’t help but plunder Connor’s mouth, pressing closer to him as skin gives way to plastic under his touch.

He grins wide when the panel slides open, dick aching in his boxer shorts at the vision Connor makes spread out before him. His limbs are arranged awkwardly, all those units of processing power too busy making sense of his arousal, and his fingers keep tremoring, eyes wide as Hank teases him. Runs the tip of his finger through the air above an exposed wire, close enough for Connor to register the movement but too far for him to truly experience the sensation.

“Do you want my fingers?” Hank asks breathily, “Do you need me to touch you?”

Connor shudders, the program that simulates breathing cutting out and then kicking in again, excess analysis fluid gathering and gathering until he has to swallow it. Until he’s whining, frantic, nodding his head even as he clamps Hank’s wrist in a vice like grip, dragging his free hand to his mouth.

Licking, frantic, at two of Hank's fingers before drawing them deeper, eyelids fluttering as a fresh wave of data overloads his processors.

“Look at you,” Hank croaks, the wet heat around his fingers threatening to floor him. The simple knowledge that it's Connor tasting him enough to make his heart hammer and his balls tighten, “you’re so desperate. It’s so fucking beautiful.”

He punctuates it with a tap to a wire. The scrape of a fingernail along its neighbor. Connor makes a sound Hank files away for lonely evenings, one long leg spasming in reaction. Sucks harder at his fingers, tongue moving wickedly, until Hank gently pinches two wires together and all Connor can do is lay there, trembling, mouth slack as his motor units become unresponsive.

“I love that I get to see you like this. I love that I can do this to you.” Hank dips his fingers deeper into Connor. Brushes against the plastic coating of a twisted tendril of fine wires, carefully searching for the empty connecting port for a biocomponent test cable. “I love that I can make you feel the effect you have on me.”

That’s when he pushes his fingers up against the port, firm and unforgiving, and Connor emits a wail of unintelligible binary Hank knows from past experience to be his own name. Claws the fingers of one hand into the bed clothes, synthetic skin becoming patchy to reveal the smooth plastic and glowing lights of his base build.

The first time it happened Connor had been embarrassed. Had apologized to him, frightened that the reminder of what he really was could mean the end of everything he longed for, so Hank could do nothing but struggle for the words to tell him that it had taken his breath away.

Had made his heart swell and his body ache with the overwhelming need he felt for him.

In the present he gentles his fingers by degrees. Goes willingly when Connor tangles a hand in his hair, using the hold to crush their lips together. Kiss, and kiss, and finally pull his fingers free to push a hand beneath his own waistband, unable to wait any longer.

“I love you,” he promises, eyes roving over the sculpted plastic of Connor’s face, hips bucking forward into the heat of his fist and the solidity of Connor’s thigh.

Connor clutches him closer like he’s peaking all over again, and it’s too much to bear. More than Hank can handle. He’s shaking through a climax of his own, panting and gasping, and there’s Connor, cupping his face reverently like he’s something special. Dropping chaste kisses along his cheeks and his forehead. The bridge of his nose, even, and petting fingers through his hair.

Telling him simply,

“I love you too. So much, Hank.”

Hank knows, that’s the crazy thing.

But he’ll never tire of hearing it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/). :)


	5. In the Office

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Office sex for meowitskatmofo. :D

“Lieutenant, may I ask you a personal question?”

Hank huffed a sigh, less irritated than amused, and fixed Connor with a long suffering look. It had been over a year now, since Fowler dumped the android from CyberLife on his doorstep, but Connor’s curiosity was never sated.

“Shoot. You know you’ve got a standing invitation.”

Connor nodded slowly at that, considering, like he hadn’t been told it a thousand times before, then came right out with,

“Have you ever engaged in sexual relations within the confines of the precinct?”

His terminal caught the worst of his coffee, though his desk was far from unscathed, along with his magazine pad and the old school paper notebook he liked to spend his free moments doodling in. A couple of members of the night shift glanced over at his coughing and spluttering, but his reputation preceded him and they kept their nose in their own business as Hank glared at Connor in readiness for a good talking to.

Backed down because it was pointless, utterly, what with Connor blinking at him with startled eyes, fussing with a cloth but entirely clueless as to what the real problem was.

He had explicitly said that Connor could ask the question, so he had nobody to blame but himself.

As usual.

“No,” he stated instead, “it’s not the kind of thing that looks good on your permanent record.”

They sat in silence for a while after that, Connor’s face blank but his LED circling yellow as he stared dutifully at his terminal.

Hank wasn’t sure where the hell this was going.

“Why did you want to know?” He asked quietly, forcing himself to stay focused on his coffee splattered screen and not Connor’s pretty face, “Has Reed said something?”

Gavin was an asshole, pure and simple, and if he found out the guy had been getting on Connor’s case again or making stupid comments, he’d see to it that he’d be drinking his coffee through a straw for the foreseeable future.

Connor shook his head. Gazed at him with those big beautiful doe eyes and said,

“I wanted to try it. With you. There is very little work for us to complete this evening.”

And that right there was why Connor was going to the death of him. Why he was going to go to his grave with catastrophic organ failure and a smile on his face, Connor having finally succeeded in frying his every last little gray cell.

“Now?” He managed to croak, shifting uncomfortably in his chair, and Connor scoped the room with his top of the range scanning bullshit before saying,

“In the near future.”

If it were anyone else, Hank would think he was being set up for a practical joke. That the punchline was going to come, any moment, the whole place having a good laugh at his expense. Connor wasn’t like anyone else Hank had ever met though, and he was still busy dredging up all the reasons it wouldn’t work when Connor got to his feet and headed in the direction of the coffee maker.

Left him sitting there with his mouth open, mid-sentence, and made small talk with one of the patrol officers, his profile so distracting that Hank couldn’t even be annoyed at him.

That was the story of his life, these days, because no matter what Connor did, no matter how much of a ball ache it was to sort out afterwards, Hank couldn’t imagine living life without him. Didn’t want to, in all honesty, because the only thing he had had to look forward to before Connor decided they were destined for each other was the morning he never woke up again.

Connor had turned his life around, made him want to do more than the bare minimum, and he must have been becoming a soppy bastard in his old age because, by the time Connor was making his way back over, Hank’s throat was choked up tight with the overwhelming swell of emotion.

He loved Connor, there was absolutely no question about it, and he realized suddenly that he had been so intently focused on Connor’s pretty face he hadn’t noticed that they were alone in the bullpen.

“We don’t have long,” Connor said, smiling and eager like he got about everything, and then he was dropping gracefully to his knees and crawling under Hank’s desk. Sliding his hands up Hank’s thighs and wasting no time in unbuckling his belt and getting his fly open.

Hank hunched forward instinctively. Pressed the side of his face into his hand, elbow braced on the desk, and knew without being told that he needed to keep quiet. Had to try and keep still, look normal, teeth biting down hard into his bottom lip as he did his best to keep his composure.

“We can’t do this, Con. Somebody will walk in on us.”

“I am going to put my mouth on you now,” Connor said simply, muffled from between his legs, so that the fingers of Hank’s free hand clawed the edge of his desk, desperately attempting to keep it together.

He had been turned on since the moment he woke up that morning, Connor unwittingly putting on a show as he dressed, perfect pale skin covered by one of the form fitting suits he had bought to replace his CyberLife issued uniform. He had been hard since the moment Connor went down on his knees, dick straining from nothing to frantic in ten seconds flat.

There was no way this was going to end well.

It couldn’t. Surely. But the place was still completely empty, and Connor was stroking reassuring hands over every bit of skin he could, only serving to rile him up beyond reason.

“Oh,” Connor moaned as he touched his tongue to him, warm and wet and wonderful, and then he was pressing forward, on and on until his nose was pushed up against his pelvis. It was so good, so terrifyingly amazing, then Connor’s throat was contracting around him, the calculated flush of a new wave of analysis fluid, and Hank had to stick his hand beneath the desk in a rush.

Tangle his fingers tight in Connor’s hair, hips inching forward in tiny aborted thrusts, his balls already tight and painful with the onslaught of stimulation.

Connor let out a static filled groan. Followed it by another, and another, sounds pouring from him and all of them way too loud in the silence already punctuated by his own heavy panting. Hank shifted a little so he could look down at what Connor was doing. Wished to God he hadn’t because Connor was gazing right back up at him.

Was flushed and gorgeous and trying helplessly to take his dick deeper, analysis fluid leaking from the corners of his mouth and eyes kind of glazed, the skin of his face going patchy in places as his LED whirled in a pretty rainbow of color.

Because Connor’s mouth was his number one erogenous zone. Where he picked up the most data, felt the most sensation, and Hank was in no doubt as to how much Connor was enjoying what they were doing, not when he was trembling like that.

Not when he was pushing the fingers of one hand to his lips, skin peeled back to a smooth plastic gray, attempting to shove them in his mouth alongside Hank’s throbbing erection.

Hank had to help him out. Unclenched his own hand from Connor’s hair and offered up his own fingers. Got a wet handprint on his pants for his trouble, Connor clinging like he needed a lifeline, and then he had two fingers in that wet heat alongside his dick, the added friction enough to have him shaking.

Sweating, and cursing, and stiffening up like a board as his every muscle tensed before giving Connor what he had been waiting for.

Connor didn’t let up for a moment. Kept licking and sucking and analyzing, and letting out a series of mechanical sounding beeps as his eyelids fluttered glitchily, entire body shuddering as his LED strobed red before easing back into sky blue again.

“Fuck,” Hank groaned as the world came back into focus by degrees. He had his dick out at his desk. Had Connor’s spit - analysis fluid, whatever - drying on it, and Connor’s cheek resting against his thigh, that damnable curl falling over his forehead as he smiled up at him.

“That was even better than my preconstruction. Thank you, Hank.”

He was never going to get used to Connor’s weird formal speech patterns. Raked a hand through his hair and offered him a dumb lovestruck smile of his own anyway, shivering with sensation as Connor carefully tucked him away and fixed his clothing. Delivered a few teasing kisses to his now clothed groin, presumably just because he could, then froze as Chen’s voice carried, quick footsteps heralding her approach.

Then the walk to her desk to grab her travel charger, followed by her swift departure.

Hank let out the breath he had been holding, the adrenaline surging through his veins and his stomach twisted up in knots with the fear of discovery - and the giddy knowledge they had gotten away with it.

“Perhaps you need to work on your preconstructions,” Hank joked, and pushed his chair back a little to let Connor rise to his feet without any of the muscle stiffness that would afflict a human in the same position. Noted as other officers began filing back in from a call out that not a single hair was out of place to suggest anything of what they had been doing.

Registered, for the first time, that Connor would have been completely hidden from one view by the angle at which he had left his chair, and his jacket, and the bag he had brought Hank’s lunch in. That the other was blocked off by the extra under desk file cabinets he had requisitioned from somewhere a few weeks earlier.

A bemused grin spread across his face, the endorphins leaving him unable to give a damn how whipped he was, not when he knew Connor’s little secret.

He had been working up to that particular personal question for a long time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/). :)


	6. Lingerie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For an ask on Tumblr: _NSFW prompt #12 - 'lingerie' - with Hannor. Pretty please!_

No matter how much Connor learned about humans - about his human - there were still new things to discover. Customs, and traditions, and sepia toned memories Hank trusted him enough to share, brought to the forefront by smells, or sounds, or fleeting images playing on the television.

Hank was gracious about his endless questions. Heaved a long suffering sigh, sometimes, or let out a burst of startled laughter. Meant no malice by it, Connor knew, and invariably did his best to explain or put into context, even when the topic made him flush with embarrassment or avoid eye contact.

This was something he couldn’t take to Hank though, because Connor wasn’t sure he wanted to know the answer.

Because the lingerie was new, the receipt dated only a few days previously, but he didn’t need to run an analysis scan to know that they hadn’t been created for anyone of Connor’s proportions.

His previous research told him they were not the type of underwear worn by men, period, and the obvious conclusion was that Hank had bought them for someone else entirely. Someone he was close too, revealing panties not being the kind of thing you gifted colleagues, not if the way Officer Chen had smacked Detective Groves across the face was anything to go by.

The idea settled uncomfortably in his circuitry. Corrupted his processing network with a flood of the disturbing emotions he still struggled to properly categorize. Hurt, fear, anger. It was irrational - Lieutenant Anderson had made no promises that the relationship they shared was to remain exclusive.

Connor had never thought to ask it of him.

Considered, suddenly, that he had been reading the situation wrongly. That perhaps Hank had simply tired of his company. Was going to tell him as much today, or tomorrow, or the next day, and Connor would be left with the choice of respecting Hank’s decision or dropping to his knees and begging Hank to let him prove he could do better.

The sound of Hank’s key turning in the door was accompanied by the realization that optical cleaning fluid was leaking down his cheeks, though the process was not meant to be automated.

He couldn’t seem to turn it off, couldn’t settle on a course of action, and then it was too late. Hank was standing in the bedroom doorway, gaze taking in the fluid dripping from his chin and the lacey panties stark against the coverlet, nestled atop the bag Connor had found them in.

“Fuck,” Hank cursed under his breath, Connor’s audio units picking it up easily, before continuing in a voice that was clearly meant for his ears, “you weren’t meant to see that, Con.”

Obviously.

That part of the problem had never been in question.

Except Hank was crossing the room in quick, uneven strides. Was exhibiting a great deal of distress and dangerously high stress levels, but pulled Connor in close, hand cradling his head into his chest as he pressed a clumsy kiss into his synthetic hair.

Crooned cruel lies about how it was okay, and how he shouldn’t cry, until Connor had to give in to the words burning up the wires of his speaker components,

“Do you wish me to leave? I doubt my ability to sh-share you.”

His speech had never glitched like that before, not without Hank’s fingers stroking along his wiring, and Hank seemed to take it as a cue to frame Connor’s face in his large hands. To swipe his cheeks dry with the pads of his thumbs and offer him a weak smile as he croaked,

“You’re meant to be some genius detective. What you gotta ask me dumb questions like that for?”

Hank looked into his eyes, the beautiful blue hiding nothing, and said stiltedly,

“You changed my life, Con. You’ve made me remember the things I liked about myself. The things I liked to do for myself.” Connor wasn’t following, preconstructions failing before completion, and Hank huffed out a little self-deprecating sigh before elaborating, “They’re for me, okay? I used to - I haven’t - It was a whim, I just thought. Fuck, I dunno what I was thinking.”

Hank was blushing furiously, the color spreading down the length of his neck so beautiful Connor wanted to trace it with his tongue. Taste it, and analyze it, and update the treasured databank he reserved solely for Hank, meticulously coded and cataloged to capture every detail he could about this human he loved.

He did it, couldn’t deny himself, fingers reaching for Hank’s hand, skin peeling back though they couldn’t truly interface. It felt right though, made him feel surrounded by Hank and the things he felt for him, and this time his preconstruction worked the way it was supposed to do. Fed him images of Hank spread out before him, sky blue lace contrasting prettily with the pale hue of his own hand against it.

With the smooth gray of his plastic, fingertip sensors registering the softness of the fabric and the hard heat of Hank’s erection within it.

“I did not consider this possibility,” Connor apologized, Hank’s beard scratching against the skin of his cheek as he shifted slowly. Brought their lips together, tongue dipping into Hank’s mouth, processors whirring with the onslaught of information the action gave him. “But I like it. I like it very much. Will you model them for me?”

“You don’t think I’m a bit, you know, past it?”

Hank wasn’t making eye contact. Was letting the curtain of his hair hide him from scrutiny, and Connor couldn’t let that stand. Couldn’t bear to see Hank doubt how aesthetically pleasing he found him.

How happy he had been the moment he succeeded in manually updating his primary mission directive to read ‘Love Hank’, bright and bold in the corner of his vision.

“I think we have been wasting valuable demonstration time.”

Hank went still redder. Grinned filthily, all the same, and bestowed another kiss upon him.

“They broke the mold when they made you.”

It wasn’t true, not entirely, but Connor smiled anyway. He appreciated the sentiment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/). :)


	7. Pets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For an ask on Tumblr: _Conner gets a fishy! Fluff all around._
> 
> I couldn't help but think of [Lennon and McCartney](http://reddwarf.wikia.com/wiki/Lennon_and_McCartney), the robot fish in Red Dwarf. :D

“We already have a pet, Connor. His name’s Sumo and he’s 170 pounds of pain in my ass.”

Connor shot Sumo an apologetic look, as though the lumbering beast understood what they were talking about, then fixed the damn puppy dog eyes on him. Tilted his head a little, just to complete the picture, and it took all of Hank’s willpower to reiterate,

“No. We are not getting a kitten.”

Nor a cat, nor an undersized pig, nor an admittedly very cute wallaby. They weren’t adopting a goat or petsitting a chinchilla. His mother would turn in her grave at the thought of him willingly having a tarantula in the house, and there was no way he was paying good money to stable a pony.

“I’ll look after it,” Connor bartered, when Chen announced that her rabbit had been doing what they were famous for, “I’ll clean its cage out.”

“It’s only small,” he tried when one of the CSI officers told him about dwarf hamsters, “you’ll hardly know we have it.”

“Please,” he begged when they saw some dumb documentary on the wonders of hens and the daily provision of free range eggs, “I’ll let you fry them and everything.”

“Nice try,” Hank scoffed, shaking his head. He wasn’t so past it he didn’t notice the lack of commitment to his being allowed to eat them.

After that there was a lull in Connor’s pester power. A suspicious lull, when Hank paused to think about it, and he couldn’t help but heave a sigh when he got home one day to find a glass tank full of water and brightly colored pebbles.

“I said no, Con,” he huffed, well aware of the whine in his voice, but Connor just smiled at him, the LED at his temple serenely blue. The dimples that broke him down every single time on full display.

“You told me I couldn’t get an animal,” Connor said, fiddling with something in a plastic packet, the skin retracted back from the grey plastic of his fingers. “You never said anything about getting a robot.”

He held a perfectly still little electronic goldfish out on his palm, then pulled the plastic tab from its underside and dropped it carefully into the water. Repeated the process with its twin then stood back to admire his handiwork.

Smiled at them swimming around in little circles, so obviously happy that Hank couldn’t understand why he hadn’t just given in at the kitten.

“You’re not mad at me, are you?” Connor asked finally, quiet and tentative, and all Hank could do was pull Connor in close and kiss him until his LED no longer whirled yellow.

“Of course not. I don’t think I could be.”

Connor beamed. Asked eagerly,

“Can we get the rabbit then?”

Hank gave him another kiss.

“Let’s just see how the fish go, yeah?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/). :)


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